Beyond This Place of Blood and Tears
by Angelinsydney
Summary: Kevin Wordsworth moved to Guns and Gangs when Parkinson's disease forced him out of the SRU. When gangs kidnapped Wordy's youngest daughter, SRU Team One rallied around him. Saving Ally became priority one. This story is about extraordinary bravery, parental love, and heroism. Dedicated to fireandice1986.
1. The Shape of Nightmare to Come

**The Shape of Nightmare to Come**

"I waaaant ice cream," the littlest Wordsworth girl screamed at the top of her lungs, throwing an almighty tantrum. The four year old could really project her displeasure. Her Dad had once observed that little Ally could be the next big Opera star. Why not? She could easily put Kiri Te Kanawa to shame. The Kiwi Soprano Superstar was also well known in the cultured world of classical music for her tantrums.

Dad was a gentle giant. Kevin "Wordy" Wordsworth was a 25-year police veteran, now a Detective at the Gun and Gangs division of Toronto police department. He started his long career as a beat cop, years later he joined Toronto's elite police unit, the SRU, or Swat as some people called his unit. Two years ago, he moved to Guns and Gangs, not by choice because if he had any say in the matter, he'd retire from the SRU. He was diagnosed with Parkinson's disease a couple of years ago which made staying with the elite police unit untenable. Wordy was the shortened version of his last name a moniker bestowed upon him by colleagues early on, he long suspected it was for the sake of irony, an indirect reference to him being a man of few words.

Wordy was home today, a rare day off. Even though Guns and Gangs had been extremely busy of late what with the non-stop deliveries of drugs and arms from across the border into Toronto, he wished he was at work instead. Upon hearing Ally's third holler of "I waaaant ice cream," he thought _it'd be more restful at the precinct_. Shell had gone to the supermarket by herself, a once a month day out without the four year old nipping at her heels. Unable to tolerate it anymore, Wordy got out from under the car where he was checking for oil leak to give the little girl a talking to.

When little Ally did this sort of "performance" as her mother called it, she got lots of attention from her family and from the next door neighbours on both sides and even the dogs across the street. Sometimes her parents wondered if people thought they were belting her.

He went inside the house and followed the sound to the kitchen whereupon he chanced on Little Ally standing on a stool, placed strategically in front of the refrigerator. Bags of frozen vegetables were on the kitchen floor; peas, corn, broccoli. And, then there were also the boxes of ready made meals. Shell, his wife and mother to three headstrong feministas had resorted to hiding the ice cream to the back of the freezer.

Wordy looked at his youngest daughter who was a mini-Shell in all but temperament. Shell was sweet and sanguine. Little Ally was sweet and well, choleric. She didn't take any prisoners. If there was one born to lead it was this little firebrand.

He crossed his arms on his chest and asked the bleeding obvious, "Exactly what are you doing, Ally?" The fast thinking four year old answered without blinking, her bright blue eyes sparkling, flashing an enigmatic smile, "I'm cleaning the fridge."

Wordy couldn't quite believe it. She was caught with her hand in the proverbial cookie jar but she wasn't going to own up to any wrong doing, and why should she? Her mom always told her she's cleaning the fridge when all she was doing was hiding the ice cream.

He wasn't going to let her get away with it "Ally, you knew in your little head you were **not **cleaning the fridge." The little girl pursed her lips, crossed her arms across her chest mirroring her Dad, "Well, I was actually," she paused for emphasis, "If you fed me the ice cream we would have less to clean."

Wordy turned around casually to hide the smile that begun to cracked on his face. The logic was a little skewed but it made sense. He tried his best to hold it in but the little girl knew instinctively that she had the upper hand, "Can I _pease_ have an ice cream?" The way she said 'please' melted his heart.

"Seriously Ally, do you know how cold it is today? It's so cold. It's not time for ice cream."

"Yes, it is," she insisted. "Everyday is for ice cream."

He sighed. Whose rule was it anyway that children can't have ice cream when it's cold? He lifted Ally down, they picked up all the frozen bags and boxes of food off the floor, "Thank you" he said. "You're welcome," she replied anticipating a reward.

Wordy sat her down on the kitchen bench and handed her an ice cream cone. He took one for himself. Father and daughter licked their ice cream peacefully until Ally piped up with, "Dad, you're like this ice cream."

"How's that?" he asked curious at what his youngest had thought of now. Ally had been the surprised package of the family from the word go.

"Cos you are good for me."

"Thanks," he said amazed at the wisdom of the little girl. He was bowled over by the fact that Ally understood the difference between _you're good for me and you're good to me. _Ally followed this up with, "Can I call you my Daddy Ice Cream?"

"I'd like that," he said. He mused to himself that he was a Daddy Ice Cream in more ways than one, the main one being he's soft towards to his girls. His heart melted easily and he tended to be sweet to them.

The ice cream cone gone, wordy asked Ally if she wanted to go out for a play in the park. "Yes, Daddy," she answered with a squeal.

Father and Dad got on their bikes and pedaled to the nearby park. His eyes, ears and mind were focused on Ally. He didn't notice a car parked across the street, it had been there since early this morning, since before his two eldest daughters caught the school bus.

He didn't noticed the two eyes that were shielded by dark wrap-around shades. He especially didn't noticed that the SUV didn't have a registration number.

It's just the sort of thing nightmares were made of. And he would have to rely on good friends to wake up from it still breathing.


	2. Snatched

Snatched

The park was deserted. They left their bikes next to the bench nearest the swing. The little Wordsworth girl ran to the play equipment excitedly, "Push me, Daddy". Wordy obliged, delighted to hear the happy squeal. "Higher," she demanded, the fearless little dynamo wasn't satisfied until she was almost parallel to the ground. He laughed along with her. They did this for a few minutes until the little one tired of it.

"I want to get off, Daddy," he stopped the swing to let her off it. She chose the seesaw next, "Daddy, sit on the other end," when he did so, Ally found herself up high unable to get herself down no matter how hard she tried. He challenged her, "Come on, try harder." She strained, her face contorting as her went "arrgh" to her Dad's amusement.

"Ok," her Dad said, "Ready, go!" He pushed with his legs so he was propelled up and Ally went down, "Hang tight." They did this for a couple of times until she decided she had enough of the one-way seesaw.

She went to play in the cubby house. She climbed up the ropes to get to the top and then slippery dipped down the slide. Wordy watched her go up and down several times. He was momentarily distracted when his cell phone rang. "Hello, to what do I owe the honour of your call?" he said. He knew who it was as First Officer Ed Lane's face lit up his phone, a long-time friend and colleague at the Strategic Response Unit or SRU.

They tried their hardest to keep in touch, it hadn't been easy. The last time they spoke was about two months ago. Their respective careers and family duties didn't make it easy to find time, "Wordy, my man. It's Clark's graduation party this Saturday, we'd like you all to be there. It's short notice… been busy lately I keep forgetting to call."

"Man, time flies," Wordy replied. His eyes still on his little girl. "Count on us to be there. I'm sure I'm off this Saturday but even if I get called to work you can expect my girls to be there." They chatted some more and started to laugh their heads off when the topic shifted to Spike, Team One's Bomb Tech. "Guess what he did the other day?" Ed asked rhetorically.

"What?" Wordy replied thinking Spike couldn't possibly surprise him anymore.

"He found some strobe lights in a junk shop the other day and rigged them up in the Command Truck. Greg was doing equipment inventory, he climbed up and 'Saturday Night Fever' played and the strobe lights came on." Ed belly laughed.

"Did he get into trouble?" Wordy asked just as he turned his back and walked three steps towards the park bench to check their bikes were still where they left them, they were. Ally was not in his line of sight for less than five seconds.

"Let's put it this way, Boss put him on cage duty for three months." When Wordy didn't reply, Ed asked, "Wordy, you still there?"

"Ed. Ed… Ally's gone." Wordy sounded frantic. "She was just in the cubby house. I just turned around to check our bikes. Ed, she's gone!" Wordy hanged up and ran towards the cubby house just as heard a car engine roar off from the street nearest the cubby house.

His heart sank to the pit of his stomach. He knew that was Ally in the car. He ran after it, hoping to see what colour, make and model the vehicle was. That's when he noticed there was no registration number. Panic started to overwhelm him as the SUV pulled away. It felt as if he was going to have cardiac arrest but his training as an elite police officer kicked in. He forced himself to breathe.

His phone rang again, he expected it to be Ed but it wasn't when his phone advised him it was from a '_Private Number'_. His heart thumped inside his rib cage, he knew before the caller spoke what the abduction meant, "What do you want?" he said in a voice that was both tight and harsh. He struggled to contain his anger.

The voice on the phone was cold. Heartless. Soulless. Devoid of emotion; of conscience. "You know what I want. Cooperate or she's dead. Don't even think of asking your buddies for help. We've got you tapped so don't even think of it." The voice of evil laughed in his ear, the sound held his chest in a vice grip. Wordy forced himself to listen to the voice; trying his best to determine where he had heard it before or if he had. He felt numb.

Ed tried to call Wordy back but the phone was engaged, he felt a telepathic understanding of his friend's situation_. It's not a coincidence_, he thought. He didn't believe in coincidences of this sort. He waited a couple of minutes before trying again. It rang out, a sure sign something wasn't right.

Ed had heard from the police grapevine that Wordy was part of a guns and Gangs task force that was responsible for shutting down a couple of arms deals and a big drugs bust. His gut told him his friend was being threatened and Ally was the leverage. Experience told him there was no overt way to reach Wordy without compromising Ally's safety. He has to find a way to reach his friend, to let him know he wasn't alone.

Wordy left the bikes in the park. He ran home; breathing in through his nose, and out through his mouth, the way top athlete did it. He arrived home drenched in sweat not only from exhaustion but from fear mixed with desperation. He reached his house and almost propelled himself through the front door.

Shell was already home. The home phone was in her hand, she was trembling all over. He looked into her eyes and knew they had already phoned. "Ally," she whispered. Her mother's heart was broken. Wordy rushed to embraced her, to sooth her.

They didn't know how long they stood in the middle of the living room, "I'm sorry," he said sounding defeated. She didn't reply. In her head, she knew the danger of Wordy's vocation. She always lived with the fear that one day someone would knock on the door to say he'd been shot. But never in her worst nightmare did she think that it would be visited upon her children.

"What are we going to do?" she wailed. She crumpled on the floor. She was still curled up on the floor when Wordy leaned over her, "I'm going to get Claire and Lily from school. We need to be strong." He stroked her hair and kissed her temple, "Be back soon," he whispered.

Shell stopped crying the minute she heard the names of her other girls, she had to be strong for them. Wordy repeated, "I'll go get them now, can you pack?" It took all her energy to nod. He looked at her with loving compassion, he set aside his own grief and got on with it.

At the SRU HQ, Ed sought out Sgt Greg Parker, "Boss, we need to talk." The ever smiling Sargent beckoned him to Briefing Room One, "I hope you're not here to appeal Spike's punishment," he replied jokingly.

Ed stared back at him in all seriousness, "Boss, Ally was taken."

"Who's Ally?" Greg asked, just then it didn't register in his brain that Ed was referring to the littlest Wordsworth.

"Wordy's," Ed paused to allow Greg's brain to fill in the blank.

"Ally? Our Ally? You mean… taken… for leverage?" Sarge said slowly for emphasis; and because he couldn't entirely believe what he just heard. "Are you sure?"

Ed answered grimly, "I was on the phone to Wordy when it happened. He's not answering his phone, this can only mean he can't."

"Call Team One," Greg instructed. _Their girl_ was snatched. Ed quickly got up to round up the Team. Greg sat alone in his thought, _they would be sorry they took the little girl that mattered most to us. _He called Sidney who was on despatch duty, "Get Team Two to cover for us. We'll be sequestered for a closed door meeting."

T1 filed in one by one, eager to know what was up. They were immediately alarmed as soon as they saw Greg's countenance, "Something wrong?" Jules asked. She was always the first to catch on. There was no easy way to say it, Ed just said it without any embellishment to get it out of the way, "Ally, our Ally, was taken."

They looked at each other confused, Sam voiced what everyone was thinking, "Our Ally? You mean kidnapped?" Greg and Ed nodded grimly.

"What can we do to help?" Leah asked as she sat on the chair closest to Greg. The others followed suit. They were determined not to let Wordy down.

Wordy reached the girls' school in record time. He went to the Principal's Office and signed the girls out, left word they may not be back for a couple of weeks. He explained that the family would be visiting his parents, he hoped he was convincing.

The trio stepped out of the school, this time Wordy was alert to his surroundings. He pinged a blacked out sedan. He was sure it had been tailing him. He would have to lose his tail if he had any chance of keeping the rest of his family safe. And he wouldn't be taking them to his parents.

He knew the only way he could keep them safe was to rally his team around him. Not his team at Guns and Gangs, he was unsure who he could trust at his current division but he knew he could trust Team One of SRU. _How can I reach them without alerting who has Ally? _


	3. Caged and Pinned Down

**Caged and Pinned Down**

Wordy arrived home with Claire and Lily expecting to find packed luggage. He still hadn't formulated a plan on how to evade his tail, shaking one was never easy. It took planning but he had the advantage of knowing his neck of the woods like the palm of his hands. Contrary to common belief, shaking a tail wasn't about speed, it had nothing to do with running red lights and jumping the curb. It had to do with angles, not distance. If you're the quarry you had to turn as many times as possible, turning left and right took you out of the pursuer's line of sight.

They jumped out of the car, he ushered Claire and Lily in, no way was he going to leave them in the car not after what happened this morning. They dashed in to find Shell in the kitchen drinking tea and staring out the window. She appeared calm, she had to try for the sake of her girls. She wasn't going to crumble in a heap in front of them, there would be time for that later. Right now, she had to keep her wits together. "Mommy," the girls' called out to her, their voices bouncing off the walls almost simultanenously. "Hello darlings," she stooped down a little to give the girls a hug. "Go to your room and play some games while Daddy and I talked."

As soon as the girls shut the door to their room, Wordy gave Shell a quizzical look, she pulled him to the yard, "Someone called... he said they'd kill Ally if we go." Blood drained out of Wordy's face. He turned ghostly pale and appeared definitely shaken, "What are we going to do?" Shell sought his reassurance. _What can I say? _The big man remained mute. He felt like a caged animal, the trap door slammed shut. He squatted down and put his head between his knees, he needed air. He was holding his breath. He mentallychastised himself. Shell knelt beside him, lightly touched the nape of his neck. He really shouldn't cry but he couldn't help it. In the end, the release was good.

It would take all of his experience and training and faith to get his family out of this jam. He looked at his phone, he knew he couldn't use it to call for help. Not Shell's. Not the home phone. He also knew that the house had to be bugged, he wouldn't be surprised if they were being watched. He hugged Shell, her face pressed against his massive chest, he whispered, "Keep your face pressed to me. I'm going to work, don't leave the house. I'll find a way to reach out. Don't use the phones, And don't use the computer."

They went back inside arm in arm, seemingly happy and without care. They entered the girls bedroom so Wordy can say goodbye to the girls. "Hi, I've been called to work, sorry, we can't go see Grandma. Be good to your Mom, ok?" They hugged him. But before he could leave the room, Lily asked, "Where's Ally?" He looked at Shell as his chest constricted. He felt faint, Shell took charge. She never failed to amaze him, she always had within her a steel rod for a backbone, "Aunt Sophie has her, she's visiting with Izzy." The answer satisfied Lily. Ally was only 18 months older than Izzy so the two playing together was not far fetched.

Wordy arrived at the station, he parked at the farthest end. He sat in his car and looked at his reflection in the mirror, he looked like he died a thousand death. As much as he tried to appear normal, he couldn't. His hands were shaking more pronouncedly, stress did that to a Parkinson's sufferer. The only thing he could do to remedy the situation was to pop two pills. He stayed in his car, almost catatonic as he waited for the drugs to take effect. He imagined an unseen loaded rifle aimed at his forehead, any minute now someone was going to pull the trigger and his brain matters would be splattered on the ground. As gruesome as the thought might have been, he didn't fear it. He didn't fear for his own mortality, but the thought of Ally dying was too much to bear. His face darkened. _Don't go there! Don't even think it. _

Shell had the more difficult situation of keeping up appearances. She had to act as if there was nothing the matter when all she wanted to do was curl up in a foetal position. She consoled herself by thinking of feisty Ally, funny Ally, tough Ally. As little and as young as she was, Ally was a natural-born survivor. She had **that** instinct that helped orphans in refugee camps survived. She recalled an article they read read about children who survived refugee camps. A journalist wrote that tough cookies usually got the most attention and care. They cried the loudest so got more food. They came forward first so they got more care. She expected no less of Ally. If there was one child who was beyond her years it would be her. She had to believe. She had to. She was cluthcing at straws as it were, if she faltered in her belief, she might as well hang herself.

Team One's closed door meeting concluded after two hours. They had hatched a plan, but they would have to work around the constraints of their work schedule. They're here at the hallowed halls of the SRU to protect the City, not one particular family. As frustrating as it was, they would have to make do with the time they have. After the meeting, Ed called the Wordsworth residence. Shell stared at the phone, the caller ID said SRU. She didn't dare pick it up. She let it ring out and hoped that was enough to trigger a SOS. Ed stared at the phone, if he had doubts before, he had none now. He would drive pass the Wordsworth residence on the way home.

Across the street from them, a house had its curtains drawn. Two shifting shadows moved. "Fuck it, man. I'm bored out of my brains. We've got them by the throat, man. I don't get why we have to squat here." He was massive. At least two hundred fifty pounds, his belly spilled out of his low hang pants. The greasy hair stuck to his scalp like brown mud.

"Stop complaining. Here's some money go buy some food." The other guy, ten years younger tossed him a wad of cash which he failed to catch, his gait being slow, "And, Oscar, no more pizza. I'm sick of it."

Greasy Oscar glared, "Asshole, no names. No names." He picked up the money. "No names or I'll kill you myself." He jumped in the car and opened the garage door by remote control. As he was driving out, he threw a glance at the Wordsworth house. The lady of the house looked delicious enough to eat, he thought. He smiled to himself, a chip decaying tooth showed. He licked his lips and imagine what he would do to her. She would be his reward. A few more days and it would be all over.


	4. Survival 101

**Survival 101**

Wordy closed his eyes while he waited for the tremors to stop. He ignored his hands and focused on his breathing, it helped to clear his mind. An idea formed in his mind and it gave him just enough hope that they would get out of their present predicament alive and well, hopefully.

As he was getting out of the car his phone rang. Caller ID simply said 'Private Number', he answered abruptly, "What do you want?" The words were out of his mouth before he could think. As an experienced officer he knew he should have answered the call calmly and showed restraint, but he was losing it. He mentally kicked himself. He lost the first round of psychological warfare. He blinked first. He showed weakness. He took a deep breath and mentally gathered himself together.

The voice on the other end was cocky, he had not bothered to disguise his voice or used electronic measure. Wordy formed an opinion, _he's so sure he will not get caught._ Whatever the outcome, Wordy knew they were dead. This sort of animal devoured its prey. "Easy now tiger, there's no hurry is there? I will tell you what I need when I need it." The message was delivered with a hint of threat and control, _whoever he is had done it before and gotten away with it._

Wordy exhaled. Push hard and Ally would get hurt, there was no doubt about it; so for now he would play along even though his father's heart was aching. The last thing he wanted was to be this asshole's phone pal but until asshole tells him what he was up to and what his part in it was, he'd just have to bide his time. But it didn't mean he'd sit here and take what was dished out to him. Kevin Wordsworth resolved to be an officer first, a father second. If he could remove some of the emotions he just might get his baby girl home.

"I've got someone here who wants to talk to you." Asshole passed on the phone, a little voice came on, softly spoken, scared, she said in a whimper, "Daddy ice cream?"

_Daddy ice cream_, Wordy felt as if someone squeezed his heart and pulled it right out, his brain kicked and screamed, _I will kill you, you fucking asshole_. He forcefully swallowed, and made himself speak naturally, "Hi, Ally. Are you ok?" There was a slight hesitation before the little girl replied, "Yes," her slight lisp evident, "Can I come home now?"

Tears streamed down his cheeks in a torrent, "Baby, I love you. I'll get you home as…..." Before he could finish the sentence the phone was snatched from little Ally's hand prompting the little one to cry. He could hear her in the background, "Pease, I want my Daddy."

He heard asshole move away from Ally. He heard clicking clacking sound. Quickly he rummaged in his glove box for pad and pen. He wrote down his observation, _footsteps on marble floor? High heels?_ Wordy made notes, every detail was important. "That's enough talking for one day. She's a bright girl. And she's well taken cared of. Adios amigo." The call ended just like that. Asshole was stringing him along, it frustrated Wordy.

He entered the precinct and went to his locker, a newly minted detective was changing into fresh clothes, "It's your day off, man. Wha ya doin here?" Inspector Glen Davies transferred from the drugs squad under a cloud, that's if the grapevine could be believed. None of the allegation was proven, and honestly, if Inspector Davies was innocent, he wouldn't be the first in the force to have been falsely accused nor would he be the last.

Big Kev smiled, "I just came by that's all. Forgot to bring my laundry home." Davies shrugged, "I'm done for the day. Good to see, buddy." Wordy followed him with his eyes, he felt sorry for the young man who was ostracised at work_**, **__lepers are treated better_.

Wordy dug around under folded street clothes. He felt what he was after, pocketed it quickly and left via the backdoor. Normally, the precinct would be teeming with people, not today. The first shift was finished for the day and the second shift was now out and about. Aside from Davies, he was sure he managed to evade everyone.

He went back to his car, and fired up the cheap, pay as you go cell phone he kept in his locker. He got one as a precaution, never expecting that one day he'd actually need it. He kept it hidden and only used it occasionally just to keep the account active. His first text message was to Spike.

Spike had just finished shift, he was changing into civvies when his phone literally spoke up, softly at first and then increasingly louder and louder, "You've got message." Before he could check the message, the phone was going ballistic**, "YOU'VE GOT MESSAGE" **to the hilarity of everyone in the locker room. Sam made a comment, "His phone is just as annoying as him."

Spike just smiled, his cheeks cracked into craters. He read the message, it was in Morse Code just in case it was intercepted. Wordy couldn't be too careful. "SOS. Meet me at the kill house." Spike wasn't sure if the message was meant just for him or the Team. He erred on the side of caution and kept quiet. For now, it would be between him and Wordy.

The kill house was where SRU practiced their assault formation. How to enter a building, how fast and how accurately they could shot at a subject without harming anyone else.

"Gotta go," Spike wiggled his phone to indicate he was meeting someone. He avoided the main exit, instead he took the long way around, via the basement. He had to be stealthy because his team mates were always at the top of their game. He didn't how long before Wordy made the appointment so he called Winnie to let her know not to wait up.

Meanwhile, Ed waved goodbye to everyone. He was glad that today he was driving Sophie's Mazda, his own vehicle advertised the fact that he was a macho man. The Mazda would look just right for the part. He drove to the Wordsworth residence and saw Shell's car parked awkwardly in the front lawn, as if abandoned in a hurry. He called again, it rang out again. Now, he was sure. He sat in his car for a good ten minutes. He put on his shades and started walking casually.

Around the same time, Wordy drove out the precinct's parking lot and immediately pinged the blacked out sedan three cars away. He drove aimlessly, seemingly oblivious to his tail. After 10 minutes of aimless driving, he turned right without indicating catching the other driver unaware. He took a quick left inside a car park, and parked in the most crowded section behind a minivan to give his car cover. It would buy him at least 10 precious seconds maybe more, depending on how smart or stupid his tail was.

Spike waited patiently for Wordy. He sat on the floor of the kill house, his legs stretched out in front of him. He closed his eyes and thought how his buddy was coping_. If Ally was my daughter, I'd be going ape shit_. He looked at his time piece, it's been approximately eight hours since Ally was taken.

Ed Lane was a former beat cop, he was trained to be observant. He was briefly a homicide detective before he transitioned beautifully to SRU, he trained to think like a criminal, to catch murderers and other cretins he had to know what made their brain ticked, assuming they had brain. He looked around the immediate vicinity. Every house had trimmed lawn, except the house directly across the street from the Wordsworth. And, its mailbox was overflowing. He discreetly opened it and found a current issue of Cars magazine. _So the owner of this house is a car officionado, why hasn't he brought his magazine inside?_ He observed the drawn curtains. It didn't take long for the house idiot to come out to confront him, "Oy, wha ya think ya doing?" The younger of the two low lives came out. Ed casually removed his sun shades, it was getting dark anyway. "Nothing, I was going to bring your mails in, neighbourly love and all," he said. "I live next door," pointing out the house near where he parked his car. Nameless darkish idiot grabbed the mail from Ed and huffed back to the house. _He didn't belong._ On his way back to the car, he called Sam Braddock. They spoke briefly and agreed on a late night date.

Back at the car park, Wordy leaned over to the backseat, grabbed a black jacket and a flat cap, he put these on quickly. He heard the car before he saw it. He ducked down and watched the car as it circled, as soon as he was sure he'd be out of sight, he duck paddled behind the cars until he reached the stairs. He casually walked down to street level and caught a cab. Half an hour later he was meeting with Spike in the kill house.


	5. Fight Back!

_The original character Giusippi "Joe" Di Nozzi first appeared in the story "Hope"._

_Swear word alert! _

**Fight Back!**

Spike quickly got up as soon as he heard footsteps, it could only be Wordy. The kill house was dark but they were both familiar with it and could walk inside it in their sleep. Spike whistled. Wordy took to the stairs to the second floor where Spike was waiting.

"I'm so sorry, bro," Spike said as soon as he saw Wordy's silhouette, his eyes having adjusted in the dark. The big man felt his friend's hand on his shoulder before he could see him. "Thanks," he replied, Spike thought how haggard his friend looked. There was a brief awkward moment because of the circumstance that brought them together. Normally, they'd be in a tight brotherly embrace, thumping each other's back till it hurt. Spike made the first move, he gripped Word's upper arm firmly, "I'm here, buddy. Anything you need… I'm here."

The big man cut to the chase, "I need your genius. I got a call today from the guy who has Ally. I was able to hear her voice briefly, that's all." Wordy stared out of the window, his arms hanged limply by his side. "He didn't tell me what he wanted from me. He wants me scared and rattled. I need to record the phone calls, can you help me."

The Techie had a fairly good idea what Wordy needed from him; he had already formed a strategy as he waited. "Give me your phone. I'm swapping with you." Wordy handed his gadget over and watched as Spike removed the SIM cards from their phones and swapped them, "My phone operates under Windows mobile. I downloaded a software called WM sound recorder. From now on, both your outgoing and incoming calls would be recorded automatically. All you need to do is answer the phone."

The big man wondered how Spike managed to always be on top of innovations in the technical world, for him tuning the television was high tech enough. For the first time since they met Wordy smiled. He has his burned phone to contact his family and friends.

"There's something else, my house is bugged. I know they can see and hear us. I don't want to alert them to the fact that we suspect this but I need to know where in my house we could talk and not be heard or move about and not be seen. Is there a way to check the house for blind spots without alerting them?"

"I have a bug sweeper but if they have cameras installed in your house, they would be alerted the minute I visit your house so here's what you can do - move around the house when you're talking. Even if your house is thoroughly bugged if you wander from room to room talking in a low voice, anyone spying on you will likely lose some info. It's nearly impossible to cover every room even if several bugs are placed in it. Turn up the sound of your radio and television. Use all your loud kitchen gadgets, you can blend as much fruit juice as you want, buddy."

"The camera bit is a little bit trickier because if they're watching the house 24/7, anything we do would alert them to what we're up to."

Wordy wasn't disappointed, it was as he expected. He thanked Spike and shook hands with him but the Techie wasn't done, "I need to hear every recording. We will rendezvous everyday so I can copy them. Bring your phone to Giusippi's Bistro on Adelaide St. Give your phone to Leslie to 'charge' and she'll take it from there."

Giusippi's Bistro was Leslie McCoy's very own, the lass was the only child of Spike's former Training Officer, Sgt Oliver McCoy. The young girl he promised to look after when her Dad died was now a 25 year old tough-as, butt-kicking woman. She recently married a cop, another Italian stallion, Detective Inspector Joe Di Nozzi. Spike smiled with bemusement as he recalled walking the bride down the aisle and telling her how beautiful she looked. And telling her it wasn't too late to change her mind even as he gave her hand to Joe in front of the altar.

"We will catch this sonababitch," Spike reassured him. Wordy nodded, his flagging spirit boosted. "Give me a lift home?"

"Where's your car?"

"I left it in a car park and took the cab here. May be you should take me back to the car park so I can collect my car."

"Ok, but I need to get something from the basement," they walked back to SRU HQ via the back door and headed to the workshop. Spike went to a steel cupboard and took out a device, "Sniffer," he said. An understanding passed between them. They drove to the car park, and found Wordy's car where he left it.

"What's the bet they've bugged your car once they discovered you could give them the slip?"

"I'm not putting any money on it," Wordy replied. This time he smiled, he switched to fight back mode. They found the bug and the tracker and decided to leave them in the car, Spike typed on his phone, Wordy's old one. "Let's take them for a wild goose chase." He showed the message to Wordy who acknowledged, Spike deleted the unsent message. "See you soon, buddy," Spike said as they both hopped in their cars.

Wordy checked the time, 8pm, he hadn't seen his girls for a whole day, his thought went to Shell who must be beside herself with grief and worry. And Ally. _My God_, he thought. He remembered the click clack sound, he hoped it belonged to a woman with a conscience, someone to give Ally food and drink at least, if not comfort and hugs. But he couldn't be sure; he tortured himself with the thought that perhaps it was a cross-dressing bastard of a man. The very thought caused his hands to tremble. He found himself in an isolated strip of road, he stepped on the brake and slammed his open palm on the steering wheel. Wordy screamed his lungs out to let go of the bottled up emotions that were slowly suffocating him.

Ten in the evening, two men in all black commando attire stealthily approached the house across the street. It had been five years since Sam Braddock, ex-special forces wore the commando suit. He was glad it still fitted him. He looked mean with black war paint on his face. Most people wouldn't know why soldiers put on black face paint. It wasn't to look mean though it had this effect; it was to avoid being detected. Oil on skin tended to make faces more visible in the dark hence the black paint for camouflage.

His V-shaped body looked amazing, every contour and muscle definition looked sculpt, he was Adonis in black. The tight suit was to prevent any snags. The less he had hanging out of him like pockets the better. On his feet were rubberised black soft shoes. He had a black beanie to cover his blonde hair which tended to reflect light. For the first time in five years, he brought out his JTF issued butterfly knife, the only weapon he would bring to the rendezvous. If he needed a gun in close quarters, he wasn't special forces trained.

Ed Lane, Team Leader of SRU Team One wore tight black outfit an elite cyclist would wear. Black beanie covered his head and war paint on his face completed the look. He presented a menacing persona. Together they appeared formidable enough to take out an army. Ed had no gun either but holstered around his waist was a taser. It was all he needed.

Ed went in first, Sam gave him a boost by locking his hands together, Ed used this to leverage himself over and above the four-foot fence. Sam followed, he used his bicep muscles to raise himself off the ground, swung his legs on the fence and went over and down solidly on his feet.

The light inside the living room was on, there was a slight gap between the curtains, Ed signalled 'I see two' to Sam who acknowledged. Greasy Oscar and nameless idiot were watching a hockey game and were noisily involved in the game. Their team appeared to be winning, _good_! The less aware they were the better. The easier they could be subdued.

Sam picked the locked in the laundry for stealth entry. Padding noiselessly, he opened the first bedroom door slightly to check for any possible subjects instead he found two senior citizens bound together on the bed, gagged and obviously in distress. He entered the room and was glad they were gagged because the old woman appeared to scream in fright. He put his finger on his mouth. He whispered to her, "Police." He didn't move. He waited until the woman got the message in her brain. When she stopped struggling, he knew she got it. He repeated, "Police, nod if you understand." She nodded. "I will remove your gag, ok." She nodded again.

Sam looked up and found Ed Lane crouched over the male victim feeling for a pulse. He felt faint ones, "He's alive but we need to get him to the hospital ASAP." They untied them. "Wait here," Sam instructed the woman, "We'll come back once we've dealt with those assholes. Sorry crims." The old woman whispered back, "More like fucking cunts!" They all cracked a smile, Sam said, "Good on ya, Granny"

They padded towards the men who were still glued to the television set. Sam made a grab for the younger man's throat in a chokehold that would put someone twice his size down. Ed went for Greasy Oscar who had just bitten into a hamburger. Ed clasped a hand over his mouth and another around his throat squeezing the Adam's apple. Ed felt the grease for the burger squashed in his palm and it disgusted him, he made a promise to himself not to eat the stuff from now on. Greasy Oscar gagged. A sense of panic welling inside him manifested itself in convulsion, Ed dropped his heavy weight on the floor.

The dynamic duo tied up the incapacitated 'fucking cunts' with the same ropes they used on the senior citizens.

"They need to go to the hospital," Ed said, "But we can't call for EMS. It's up to us." Sam suggested they get Wordy, "We've neutralised the monitoring centre." He pointed out the monitors showing the interiors of the Wordsworth residence. The couple were not sleeping, Wordy was on the couch resting and Shell was in the kitchen eating ice cream, spooning the comfort food slowly into her mouth,.

"I'll get Wordy. Get them ready."

Ed crossed to Wordy's house and rang the bell. Wordy was up on his feet instantly and gasped audibly when he saw Ed in his man-in-black outfit. Ed didn't speak but motioned with his head, "Let's go."

"Who's there?" Shell heard the door bell, too. Her husband turned around, "It's ok. Stay here, I won't be long," he disappeared out the door, and followed Ed across the street. Shell looked out the window. She didn't know what to think.

Wordy didn't know what to expect. He stepped inside and saw the monitors showing different parts of his house, he felt enraged and violated. Two men were tied up. Their legs tied to the legs of the chair, their hands behind their back. They were gagged. Sam was standing behind them. Wordy's facial expression was priceless, then he remembered his elderly neighbours, "Mr and Mrs Dunn, are they here?"

"Yeah, we need to take them to the hospital," Wordy rushed to the bedroom and found Mrs Dunn ministering to her husband of 55 years. She was crying. "I'm sorry," he said. "I thought you were away on holidays."

"We were packing when they burst through the door, another hour we would have been on our way to my daughter's." Wordy didn't want to waste anymore time, "We have to go, he needs medical attention."

"Wordy carried Mr Dun to his family van and Mrs Dunn was assisted by Ed. On the drive to the hospital Wordy apologised but said he had to ask, "Do you know why they didn't kill you?"

Mrs Dunn said she understood, "The younger man wanted to kill us but the older one said they'd kill us when they're done. This way they didn't have to think about what to do to our corpse. They'd just packed up and go and leave us to decay." The shock had passed and Mrs Dunn was now shaking, the reality of what she survived had dawned on her.

In the meantime, Little Ally found herself locked in a huge bedroom alone. The lights were turned off. She covered herself with a blanket and shivered. It was cold and she was hungry. All she had all day was a cold sandwich with thick mustard. She couldn't eat it although she tried.

She tossed and turned. She couldn't cry anymore, her eyes were sore and she felt out of water. She didn't know she was dehydrated. She's just out of water. Tossing and turning, she found herself wound tightly in the blanket the cocoon somehow gave her a sense of comfort. She did what she did best to cope, she sang in her head, _This old man he played one, he played knick knack on my thumb, with a knick knack paddy whack give a dog a bone, this old man is rolling home. _She kept singing until she fell asleep in quiet slumber.


	6. Count Down

_Author's Note: The original character Billy Cameron was first introduced in the story "A Pleasant Surprise". She also featured in "Hell Hath No Fury," "The Wolf," "Treasures" and "Hope." In my serialised stories, Billy is an Australian bomb tech on secondment to RCMP from the Royal Australian Air Force and romantically linked to Raf Rousseau._

_I married off Win to Spike in the story "Hope" hence the reference to Win as the new Mrs Scarlatti._

**Count Down**

Sam Braddock assessed the two thugs and checked out the high tech equipment. _There had to be a reporting system between these two and whoever masterminded the snatch._ He texted Spike, no pleasantries, just straight for the jugular, "Get your ass to the house across Wordy's ASAP."

Spike was resting on the couch with Moppet, his three-legged golden retriever napping on his lap. The Techie read the message and jumped off the couch so quickly he dropped the poor canine to the floor, "Sorry kiddo, he said." The dog wasn't happy but forgave him anyway.

"Where are you going… you just got home?" Win came out of the bedroom to inquire when she heard the thump as the dog landed on the floor. "Gotta go, I'm needed," he hurriedly changed out of his PJ. Win watched him dressed, "I told you not to ogle, it's rude," he said teasingly. She laughed.

"Love you, Miss Sunshine," he said as he kissed her on the way out.

Wordy and Ed arrived at the hospital to check Mr and Mrs Dunn in. The two officers were well known to hospital staff as such the elder couple were given immediate VIP treatment. As soon as they were out of earshot, Wordy told Ed in a low voice, "We've gotta organise protection for them, just in case… at least til we can get them transported to their daughter's."

"Let's call Greg," Wordy handed his burnt phone to Ed who dialed the Sarge's number from memory. Marina was startled when the phone by Greg's bedside buzzed. She looked at the time **11:15pm**. Greg apologised to Marina and reached for the phone. He got out of bed and wondered who was calling him at the dead of the night, _private number_, his heart raced, "Hello?"

"Boss, it's Ed, it's a long story so I'll skip the boring details," like there was anything boring, "We need police protection for a couple of senior citizens, we need you to pull rank."

"Is this about Ally?'

"Yup," came the abrupt reply. Sarge did one better than what was asked of him, after he called Raf to get his ass to St Luke's he called Sgt Donna Sabine. Team One was on roster for a 9am start but none had been to bed so he decided to organised a shift swap.

**11:30pm**, Greg shook his head, _I'm going to owe Donna big time_. He pressed the speed dial, Sgt Sabine answered in one ring, "Hi Greg, what's up?"

"Do you sleep with the phone clipped to your ear?" The first female SRU Sargent laughed, "Just about. What can I do for Team One?" _She's too sharp_. "This is need-to-know basis, Ally Wordsworth was kidnapped this morning," Donna gasped, "My God, sorry to hear that," she said sincerely. She had a connection with Wordy, a man with a gentle soul.

"Thanks," Greg replied, "My Team has been quietly tracking the kidnappers with limited success. They haven't been to sleep. We're rostered in for 9am start, I was wondering if we could swap shift with your Team."

"Got it," she said. "Boss, go get them. And, please don't hesitate to call if you need anything … anything at all."

Donna sent a group message to her Team, "Change of schedule, we're on first shift, see you at 7am." As protocol dictated every one of her team replied with a single word, "Copy." She was glad they had the day off, an early start wasn't going to be a problem. Greg, for his part, sent a group message to his Team, "Change of schedule, we're on third shift." They replied, "Copy."

Spike arrived at the house across Wordy's, he knocked to make his presence known. He opened the door silently and called out Sam's name. The last thing he wanted was to be shot by Braddock who could hit his mark blindfolded. "Sam... Spike."

"Come in." The Techie whistled as he laid eyes on the bank of computer monitors that lined the wall, "State of the art." He checked out the listening and recording devices on the console. He was so tunnel-visioned he neglected to notice the two thugs in the centre of the room, tied up in all their glory. "Are you done Inspector Clouseau?" inquired Sam in a bemused tone of voice, that's when Spike snapped out of it.

"Samtastic!" He fist bumped with the warrior-looking Sam, "Wow, Black Panther." He looked at the goons, "What have we here?" Sam raised his eyebrows,_ Spike_, and a wry smile lightened his face.

At **11:30pm,** a cell phone rang, the sound came from inside the greasy man's pocket. It took a lot of effort to get it out, by the time Sam got it out the ringing had stopped. Sam and Spike looked at each other and wondered if they had given the game away. A minute later, it rang again. Sam flicked open his butterfly knife and poke Greasy's neck with it, he cut the skin, blood trickled down to frighten the living daylight out of the fat goon. "Don't make a mistake or your dead, understand? And don't cough."

Spike plugged a device on the phone, turned it on and put in on speaker so they could hear what's being said. "Hello?"

"Why haven't you called? You're 15 minutes late!"

"Spike pointed to the TV, the goon replied, "Sorry boss, carried away watching the game."

"Idiot, watching hockey is not what I'm paying you for, you forget to check in again and I'll send someone there to top you, understand?"

The goon refused to answer, the mastermind asked again, "Understand?" Sam and Spike detected that the hesitation was deliberate. The blonde ex-JTF warrior pressed the knife in, "Yeah, Boss. All good."

After the call, the mastermind chewed on his cell phone, "Send a team over there," he instructed his chief of security, "Something's off."

The Chief of Security was a disgraced Brit SAS charged with possession. In his line of work, "Dishonourable discharge" was a kiss of death. Unable to acquire a salaried position with private military companies he plied his skills to the underworld.

"On it Boss," he said. He ordered two of his crew to check Wordy's house and the house across the street which he referred to as the Comm Hub. The crew took their time prepping their firearms.

About the same time, the brothers-in-arm had the exact same vibe, "We've got to call for reinforcement, we've been pinged." Sam called Jules, Spike called Win and Billy. First things first, they've got to get the girls out of the house.

**11:40pm**. Jules arrived at the house across Wordy's in 10 minutes; she must have broken all the road rules to get there that fast. She tossed a back pack to Sam who said, "I'll be out in two," he went to the bathroom and came out transformed from Black Panther to Sam Braddock. He clipped his ammunition to his favourite handgun, a Luger.

Billy went by Spike's apartment to get Win but before they left Billy went to the hidden cupboard where Spike hid his firearms, not even Win knew about it.

Inside were long and short firearms, most prominent were prototype Luger and Desert Eagle, Win clutched her chest, stunned at the sight. She didn't think of Spike as a gun man. Spike used one for a living but he hadn't fire it at anything that's alive. Truth was, Spike liked guns as mechanical objects. He liked the feel of the steel, the grooves of the grip, the fineness of the inside of the barrel; and he particularly admired the mechanism of it, and the studies of ballistics and trajectory. He could disassemble and reassemble a handgun in minutes, even blindfolded.

Her reverie was broken when she heard Billy exclaim, "You beauty." The Aussie grabbed what appeared to be a lethal weapon and a weaponised syringe, "What's that?" Win asked in a panic, thinking she would now be party to an assassination. Billy smiled, "Don't worry! It's only a tranquiliser gun."

Billy tried to remember what Spike wanted from his armoury, _the Luger_. She took that and checked the clip. _Good to go!_

**12 midnight**, Win and Billy arrived at the house across the street. Spike met them, "Get the girls out, we don't have time." Billy handed over the Luger, "Here you go, mate."

Billy and Jules ran across the street, Shelley Wordsworth was shell shocked when they burst in unannounced, "What's going on?" The only reason she didn't go all hysterical was because she's been watching them from the window since Wordy left the house with Ed.

"No time to explain." They woke up the girls and escorted them to the car, the girls were bewildered but didn't complain or question the adults; they complied sensing that there's danger lurking round the corner.

"Win, you know what to do?" Billy looked concern at the new Mrs Scarlatti who nodded but her hands were trembling. _She's never been in a live operation before_. Spike knew she'd be frightened so he went out to hug her through the car window and reach over to program the GPS. "Don't listen to anything else. Focus on the voice from the GPS. Hear me?" Win nodded, "I love you," she said. Spike smiled, "I love you, too. Now go."

Win had just turned a corner when a SUV arrived and parked about 100 metres from their destination. Billy and Jules ran back inside Wordsworth's residence, turned off the lights, positioned themselves where cover seemed adequate and waited. Their eyes adjusted to the darkness and they had the element of surprise on their side.

While Spike was out with Win, Sam moved the goons to the laundry. He had to untie their legs from the chair and ordered them to waddle out of the living room at gunpoint. That done, Sam positioned himself behind the door, Spike ran back inside and sat in front of the monitors. The curtains silhouetted his profile in the light, if no one was sitting in front of the monitors, it would alert the new arrival that something was off.

The two men split up. One went to Wordy's, the other to the Comm Hub. Billy hid behind the sofa, she armed the tranquilizer gun; Jules behind a steel cabinet, not adequate but enough to keep her from a direct hit.

The door creaked open, Billy didn't hesitate. The second the man's full frame was inside the door, she fired. He only had time to say, "Ugh," before he collapsed on the floor unconscious. Billy couldn't believe it, "Fuck me." She wondered if the tranquiliser juice was made for elephants and she just killed a man. She turned to look at Jules, the female SRU member lifted five fingers which suggest "at the count of five" they would come out of hiding. Jules counting with her fingers, on five, they got up and checked on the man, he was breathing. Billy exhaled.

Across the street it was deathly quiet, Sam stepped out from behind the door and aimed the gun at the newcomer's head from a safe distance. Spike turned around and pointed his Luger at the man's crotch. "Oh, look at us," he taunted the newly arrived, "Welcome to paradise."

Sam smiled knowingly. _This newly arrived better be singing._ Sam pulled another chair over. Tied the man's hands behind him with plasticuff, he felt for the cell phone, took it out before he tied him down to the chair, "Who do you to report to?" The guy didn't respond.

"You have a choice, easy or hard?" Sam encouraged. When he got no response, Sam did the next best thing. He removed the guy's belt, unzipped his pants, flicked open his butterfly knife and cut the cloth of his underwear. "I will slice off your crown jewel at the count of two." Spike interjected, "Buddy, trust me, he'll do it." And for effect, Spike covered his own jewel and contorted his face.

The guy said, "Norm." Spike plugged a device to the phone, searched for Norm, put it on speaker and dialed. Sam warned the guy, "Don't cough, don't hesitate," he depressed the tip of the knife just above the man's penis and broke skin, the guy looked down as blood started to seep into his underwear and nodded dumbly, "Boss, everything's fine. Do you want us back?"

"No, stay there and kill the useless bastards when you're done." He hanged up, just like that.

The phone call recorded, Spike went to see the greasy ones in the laundry. "Wanna hear what Norm said?" He replayed it, "Apparently, the two of you are useless bastards. If you wanna live a little longer, you better start talking." He left them to stew over that bit for a little while.

He looked at the time, **2pm**. He prayed Ally didn't have to spend another night somewhere scary. He called Win just to check that they made it home ok. "Yeah, we're home. But the girls can't sleep," she said, Spike commiserated. Before he hanged up he thanked her, "It's the least I could do," she said in reply.

Claire and Lily sensed Ally wasn't really with Aunt Sophie but were scared to ask the truth. At 12 and 9 years of age, they were more aware and more sensitive to the moods of people around them. They sat on the floor, rugged up in blanket. Win turned on the television and played a movie for them. She picked a Disney movie, "Lion King," Liley and Moppet came over to keep the kids company while Shell and Win drank tea.

Ally woke up in the wee hours of the morning. She had no concept of time. Her eyes opened, she scanned her surroundings. She felt very scared and unsettled, her fear was exacerbated when her kidneys told her she needed to pee but there it was strange room. She couldn't see in the dark very well, and she didn't know where the toilet was. She didn't know what to do now that she desperately wanted to pee.

She struggled to keep it in. But it was all too much in the end she wet the bed; it triggered a feeling of shame in the four year old. She was distressed but she had no word for it. "Mommy," she cried into the bed. "Mommy."

Urine pooled in her pants. The warm liquid spread quickly and drenched her and the bed and the blanket that had kept her warm. Discomfort won out, she wriggled out of her cocoon and removed her clothing as best she could. She was now very cold. Ally padded to a wardrobe and found a pair of woolly men's socks, she put these on and it went all the way up her thigh. She found a shirt and put this on, it was too big but at least she felt better. Being naked didn't feel well.

She rummaged and found a tie which she looped around her waist, like playing dress up, to keep the shirt from falling off her tiny shoulders. She smiled slightly at a jacket. _Daddy has one just like it._ She put this on.

Her eyes adjusted to the darkness. She walked around the room. As she was low to the ground, she looked at a coffee table with interest, ran her fingers along its side. She felt a small concealed handle, she moved it across and it opened. "Oh," she said. The coffee table was also a storage unit. No one must have known about it because it was empty. She crawled inside and closed the little door at least inside it she was warm. It was a tight fit she was a tall girl for a four year old. It's ok though, as long as she remained curled up in a foetal position. She hadn't sucked her thumb for ages, but now it seemed the only comforting thing to do.

Shell suddenly felt very cold and very frightened, she gripped Winnie's hands and cried silent tears. _Dear God, please bring her back._

They cried together.


	7. Not another Night in Hell

_Author's Note: James Dun Levy, appears on this chapter. Spoiler alert for season 4's "Run, Jamie, Run." He was also featured in the story "Hope."_

**Not another Night in Hell**

Raf went to St Luke's Hospital straight from Toronto International Airport. He was just coming out of customs when his cell phone went off, "Boss?"

Sargent Parker heard boarding calls and had a sudden realisation that Raf was on a holiday with his Mom, a long-promised treat to the loving mother who was the young man's anchor throughout a fatherless adolescence. "Sorry, I shouldn't have called, just remembered you're on holiday."

"Boss, no, I'm home. We're home," the baritone qualified quickly. He knew the Boss wouldn't be calling UNLESS it's an emergency and he wouldn't be put off. "Boss, what is it?" Raf and Mrs Rousseau had now made it to the carousel. Greg Parker told him the short version while they waited for their luggage to come around.

"No problem, St Luke's,…. ok, tell Ed and Wordy I'm on my way," Mrs Rousseau heard though she wasn't listening intentionally, "Go ahead, son. I'll manage." Raf kissed his Mom and went off to find a porter, "Look after my Mom." She smiled and said, "I'm not disabled, I can manage." Raf ignored her and stared at the porter who replied, "I'll look after her," Raf handed him a generous tip.

He felt bad doing it but he had no choice, he flashed his badge to jump the queue, "Police emergency". Lucky for him, he got an experienced cab driver who hooned all the way to St Luke's, glad to be able to hot-rod it in the city of Toronto without being arrested. Mr Cab Driver enjoyed his Toronto Grand Prix moment as much as Raf was a happy passenger, he too received a generous tip.

It was midnight by the time Raf got to Mr and Mrs Dunn's room, there was no time to joke about, after a brief debrief that consisted of, "Look after them, will ya?" The young man just had time to nod before the duo went off like a rocket. Ed was still in his elite cyclist attire which drew a lot of stare from hospital staff and patients alike. He'd have created a scene had he not scrubbed off his war paint on the drive over from Mr and Mrs Dunn's house.

Wordy dropped off Ed first. He reached his home 15 minutes later, he spotted a distinctive SUV parked 100 metres from his house, he slowed, passed the SUV and his house and parked round the corner. He walked back, head down, unsure what to expect.

The house lights were on, he could see two shadows, his first thought was of Claire and Lily except it's now **1am **so they couldn't still be up. He approached stealthily. The front door was ajar, he drew a deep breath and gathered his wits about him then heard a familiar girlish voice, _Jules?_ He waited 30 seconds before entering, Billy and Jules had made themselves at home. An unknown subject was gagged and trussed up like a pig ready for roasting on his couch.

"Welcome home," said Jules as she raised a cup of tea. "Where's my family?" Billy said "8" Wordy understood this to mean Spike and Win's apartment. "Go see them… they've got something for you."

He hastily left the women to their morning tea and walked across the street. Spike had a headphone attached to him, with a look of concentration. He was on to something.

Sam was in the dining room, cool as cucumber, doing mind games with a captive audience. There was a bucket of water next to him and a towel. Wordy guessed it had to do with some kind of water boarding. They were, to a man, not the violent sort but they were running out of options. A little girl had been taken from her family; and God help them all if his little Ally had to stay another night in hell.

The blonde SRU spoke up, "This is the father of the child you took, you can either deal with me or you can deal with him, either way it's not going to be pretty. Now, let's start with who you work for."

"I report to Norm, you heard him, he's Brit. All I know is he was SAS and now he's the chief of security. I've never met the Boss. Everything's done by phone or text or Facebook."

"What's your name?" Wordy asked.

"Charlie. Charlie Poon."

A light bulb appeared above Spike's head, he kicked himself mentally, _Why didn't I think of that before_? He called SRU, Peter was on duty, "Pete… Spike here. Can you do a search on Charlie Poon?"

"On it, Spike. Do you wanna wait or call you back?"

"Call me back. ASAP. I need it yesterday." Peter smirked, "K.", sixty seconds passed. Spike's phone buzzed crazily, "Pete my man, what have you got for me?"

"Charlie Poon has a rap sheet as thick as the Yellow Pages. He was last arrested on charges of supplying drugs by a Constable Glen Davies."

"Wait," Spike said, "let me put you on speaker. Sam and Wordy need to hear this. Ok, repeat what you just told me." Peter repeated the information, Wordy was instantly alarmed, "Constable Glen Davies, you said?"

"Affirmative, why?"

"I work with him… he was transferred to Guns and Gangs from Drug Squad under a cloud. Is there anyone else we could connect to him?"

Sam raised a finger and went to the laundry. He frisked the two men and found their wallet. "Search for Jorge Riaz and Oscar Bourne."

"K," they listened as Peter banged on the keyboard. "I think you guys hit jackpot, they all had the same arresting officer. Constable Glen Davies."

They thanked Peter, Wordy added, "Let's keep this between us, ok?" Peter replied with "Cross my heart, I swear on my neighbour's pet python."

Spike turned back to the console, "Wordy, listen to this, Oscar back there got a call from this guy, does he sound familiar to you?" He played the recording, Wordy nodded, "That's the same voice, that's the man who called me yesterday two hours after Ally was taken."

"Does he sound like Glen Davies?"

"Play it again?"

Wordy thought about it for a minute, he wasn't close to Glen Davies. He didn't have much to do with him but there's something about the timbre of the voice that sounded familiar. "Spike, it's not the same accent but there's something about the timbre that sounds the same."

"Some people are very good voice artist. They can speak in different accents and intonation but the quality of the timbre of their voice remains the same. He's cocky, he's confident that you wouldn't be able to tell it's him. I have to say if he was able to deceive you, he had to be very good."

**2am**, Around the time Ally woke up from deep sleep, Wordy felt the hair on the back of spine stood on ends and he thought of Little Ally. "I'll kill the bastard," he must have said it aloud because next thing he knew Sam had him in a death grip, "Don't do it man, it's not worth losing your family for. Leave it to us, we'll get him. Get some sleep."

"I'll drive you home," offered Spike. "Come on, Shell and the girls need you." Wordy didn't resist, he was drained and they noticed his hands were trembling. "You need rest. He'll call again soon. Promise we'll pick up his location." They left in peace.

Sam called Jules, "Let's consolidate, let's move you guys here." Billy came across first then Sam went to Wordy's house. He lifted the thug over his shoulder and carried him in a fireman's lift. Jules locked up. When they reached the house, Sam didn't bother with subtlety. He dumped the thug on the carpeted floor, he looked down and shrugged, _What's the worse that could happen, he'd wake up with purple bruises._

**2:30am**, Spike and Wordy found the women silently crying in the kitchen. The girls had finally fallen sleep in front of the television, curled up with the canines. White noise emitted from the television but Win dared not turn it off in case the sudden quiet wake the girls.

They decided to leave the kids where they were. Win and Spike offered their bedroom to Shell and Wordy and they moved to Apartment 7.

"Miss Sunshine, do you mind sleeping on the couch, I need to program something." She said not to worry and brought out pillows and blanket and curled up in the couch. "Get some sleep yourself, Angel Boy." He kissed the top of her head and said, "Don't worry about me, I don't want Ally to spend another night in hell."

**5am**, Leah Kearns woke up and wondered what everyone was up to, it felt as if everyone has gone to ground. She didn't feel threatened, she's comfortable and secure in her own skin, _If they need me, they'll call_. Nothing personal, _If they don't call, it means I'm excess to requirement._ But she sent a text message to Wordy, "I'm thinking of you and I'm here when you need me."

Wordy fired off a "Thank you."

**7am **Wordy's cell phone buzzed, waking husband and wife instantly. "Hello?" The mystery man who was Constable Glen Davies laughed thinking he still had the upper hand. "Did you sleep well?"

"What do you want, asshole?" The big man was losing it and this was exactly what  
Glen wanted him to be. Scared and rattled. Fear made big, strong men compliant. "A truck is crossing the border at 2pm today. I need you to wait for the truck on Canada's side and escort it to a warehouse. I'll let you know where when you get inside Toronto's city limits."

"Are you insane? Wordy kept his voice low but he couldn't help it if his tone was belligerent. "How on God's earth do you expect the truck to pass through Border Security? And I'd like to remind you I'm a nobody at Guns and Gangs. I can't dictate where I want to be assigned or what I want to do?"

"That's another thing I like about you, you're so humble. Let me see, you were the Team Leader of the raiding parties that ruined it for my two previous arms storage depots. So, some nobody you are. Don't worry, you're not alone. Constable Glen Davies will be assisting you. You only have to turn up." Davies ended the call.

**7:15am** Wordy called Spike. The Techie opened the door to Apartment 7 and invited Wordy in, who was surprised at the state Spike was in, "Did you sleep? You look like shit?"

Spike scratched his head, "I didn't but I had so much fun. You won't believe how we'll trap him. First let's have coffee," The espresso machine had gone to work, "Wha'd ya like?"

"Cappuchino, three sugar… I need it."

Wordy spotted Winnie curled up on the couch, "Oh dear," he murmured. Spike overheard him, "Don't worry about it, it's a comfy couch."

The aroma of coffee woke up Win, "Hey, make one for me, will you? Good morning Wordy." The big man smiled, "Good morning."

Both men retreated to Spike's office coffee in hand. They listened to the recording using a CSIS-issued high tech, high spec computer. Spike worked as a consultant for Canada's intelligence agency in an ad hoc basis, more like, when they're down a man thingy. Geek stuff mainly.

Spike separated each sound. They heard increasing traffic noise so they concluded Glen Davies called close to the City. They hit gold when a voice said, "Welcome to York's Deli and Bakery."

Spike Googled the name, "It's a restaurant in the Fairmont Royal York Hotel. We need to find someone to go there with a camera, someone unknown to Glen Davies but someone close to us."

They had the same exact thought, "Leah."

**7:35am** Leah's cell phone buzzed excitedly, Spike's name came up, "What took you so long?" she said. Both men laughed, "Was that Wordy?"

"Affirmative."

"Where are you guys?"

"My apartment, we've a job for you, keen to go undercover?" Spike didn't have to ask but he liked to hear Leah's kick-ass attitude, it's spine-tingling. "Hell yeah, try to stop me. In 10."

She hanged up and dressed in smart casual. If she had to go undercover as a bum, she'll just have to peel off her clothes and substitute it with a track shirt and pants she always had in the boot of her car. That's how cool she was.

**7:45am** Leah arrived at Apartment 7, they didn't waste time. Spike fitted her outfit with a tiny camera that looked like a small corsage. She was out the door in minutes, Spike feeding her on the fly.

"You want to be at the Fairmont Royal York Hotel, at the Deli and Bakery."

"I'm going as…?"

Wordy suggested she go as a Consultant, checking the hotel's standard and maintenance. "Got ya," she said. She was at the car park within 10 minutes. She came out with a portfolio and gave her keys to the valet, looking the part.

She went straight to the York's Deli and Bakery, a first class breakfast restaurant for the loaded. She strode in confidently, in character. She turned a table card upright and smiled at the food attendant, "These name cards has to be straight," she said.

"Yes, ma'am."

She greeted he customers, lingering at each table, "Hi, my name's Leah. I'm a food and beverage consultant. How do you like the service so far? And the food?" She shook hands with them and thanked them sincerely for their patronage. She reached the third table. Seated were five men, in the middle holding court was a young male in his 30s, Wordy gripped Spike's shoulder, "That's Glen Davies."

Seated to Glen's immediate right was a big man, Leah reached over to him to say hello, He took her hand and shook it firmly, "Hi, is there anything the matter?" in a thick British accent. "Bingo," exclaimed Spike, he couldn't help himself.

Leah shook hands with the rest, mentally assessing each of them. She had no doubt they were all armed. She repeated her cover story, the men all agreed they loved the food and the **privacy** the hotel offered. She had no doubt that _privacy_ was her cue to scoot and not come back.

Leah though had a sense, Glen liked her. He liked powerful women and he liked to hurt them and put them in their place, she wrote her number down on a napkin and gave it to Glen, "in case you need anything else," she winked and catwalked it out of the restaurant.

"Did you get all that?"

"Copy that!"

"Leah, ask the parking valet how many vehicles Glen Davies and Co arrived in."

"Copy that!"

Leah removed her business suit. Inside she wore a nice lacy polo that showed the contrast of her ebony skin to the white fabric. She was a walking work of art. The parking valet was stunned at the tall woman with pillow lips, "Can you get my car, please? And oh, tell me how many cars did Mr Glen Davies and Co arrive in?"

"Yes ma'am."

The parking valet came back with her car, and said, "Three SUVs ma'am." She winked and kissed him on the cheek. The teen-ager just about had a heart attack.

Spike and Wordy heard it, "Leah, well done!" She answered with "Anything for my family."

**9am** Raf called Wordy to say Mr and Mrs Dunn were being discharged, but can't go home. Wordy had a thought. This was his chance to sent Glen Davies on a wild goose chase. "Raf, take my car but be warned that it's bugged and it has a tracker but no camera. As long as you keep the radio up and you don't talk too much, anyone monitoring the car wouldn't know it's not me driving. Ya good with that?"

Raf smiled, "Hell yeah. Bring it on!" He called Billy to bring Wordy's car to St Luke's, "I can't leave them, babe. They're scared."

"No worries, babe. I'm coming."

**10:00am **Raf and his elderly wards begun their long country drive. The men monitoring the car's movement were baffled, "Where the hell is he going?" The wild goose chase officially begun!

**10:15am** Spike called Billy to meet him at the Royal York Hotel, "I'll feed you on the fly, we're ready to rock and roll."

Then, he called his favourite little big brother, "JD, you wanna have fun?" James Dun Levy was a teen-age prodigy saved from a life of destruction by Team One, and Spike in particular. He now worked full-time with Canada's Treasury Department.

"Now?"

"Yeah… now!"

"I'm in"

"Meet me at the Royal York Hotel, I'll feed you on the fly."

Spike got up, pocketed three USBs and gave Wordy a silly smile. "Revenge, here we come."

Wordy was speechless, "What are you up to?"

Spike placed a hand on his friend's broad shoulder and said, "Wordy, eat breakfast with your family, enjoy every moment, smell the roses, and watch it all unfold. Don't worry, you'll be there to witness the whole thing in person. For now, Billy, JD and I are going to have fun."

_The next chapter will rock you off your seat!_


	8. Revenge

**Revenge**

She didn't know what time it was. Little Ally woke up and was momentarily confused. It was dark, very dark. She extended her arms out her fingers felt the smoothness of wood. She stretched out her feet, it touched wood. She couldn't remember where she was, she had no recollection of waking up in the wee hours of the morning and crawling inside a coffee table that doubled as a storage unit. "Mommy," she screamed. "Mommy!"

Her Mommy didn't come. "Daddy," she screamed. Daddy ice cream!" Daddy didn't come.

Ally stayed still, her throat parched and throbbing. She banged on the sides of the coffee table. She felt it give. Her fingers traced the sides and felt a depression of some kind, her little fingers dug into the groove and she pulled, the little door opened. She gave out a sigh of relief when slowly light streamed in. She opened it a little more, when her eyes adjusted to the light, she crawled out.

On the coffee table was a packet of biscuits and a glass of milk. She ate them, she was famished. She felt slightly better after consuming the packet of biscuits. She padded towards the door and heard clicking clacking sound. The same sound her Mommy made when she wore those tower shoes in their kitchen's tiled floor. A window, huge, but it she couldn't see out not like the windows in her house.

**9am** That's when the wheel was finally set in motion. Bodyguard No 1, seated on Glen Davies' left kept track of Wordy's car. The green light came to life which indicated that his quarry was on the move. He watched the light blink away from Wordy's house where it had been parked overnight. _Technology sure has its advantages_, he smiled as he fondled the gadget, _I get to have breakfast in an exclusive restaurant while this thing works for me. _

He kept vigilant eye on the device, _Where are you going?_ He continued to enjoy his breakfast with the Boss, glad to be a member of the Inner Sanctum. What he didn't know was it wasn't Wordy on the wheels. He'd have known that if he had eyes on it.

**9:20am** Billy arrived at St Luke's. BG No. 1 momentarily wondered what Wordy was doing in a Hospital then he remembered that the big man had Parkinson's, he convinced himself that the Guns and Gangs officer must have gone to keep to a doctor's appointment.

Billy found Raf waiting in the lobby, they hadn't seen each other for two weeks, "I miss you, babe" she said. They kissed passionately ignoring the onlookers but disengaged quickly when they heard a little girl's disapproving voice, "Excuse me, this's isn't the place for that." They apologised for the public display of affection and laughed merrily all the way to the third floor where Mr and Mrs Dunn were waiting.

The elderly couple didn't want to be separated for one second, so Billy the Aussie kid kept them company while Raf checked them out. "How did you know Raf?" Mrs Dunn inquired, taking a genuine interest in the young couple.

"We worked briefly together. Raf is SRU, did he tell you that?" The couple nodded, "I'm on secondment to RCMP Bomb Squad from the Royal Australian Air Force."

Mr Dunn's eyes twinkled, "Did you say Bomb Squad?"

"I sure did," she said with a wide grin that could cover the Australian continent.

"In the Second World War I used to blow up bridges in Normandy," Billy caught Mrs Dunn look up to the ceiling as if to say,_ Here we go_. She reached across to the old woman to assure her she didn't mind, "Tell me about it, I like hearing war stories."

"Oh, please don't encourage him," it was Mrs Dunn doing her best to look horrified. They were however saved by the bell, Raf and a nurse came in with wheelchairs. "Thanks Nurse," he said, "We'll take it from here."

"Where does your daughter live?" Raf asked.

Mrs Dunn replied, "Haileybury… Son, are you sure you want to drive us there? It's a bloody six hour drive, one way. I feel awful already."

"Mrs Dunn, for you and Mr Dunn, I'd do anything," Raf said in his charming best. As soon as they were buckled in, Billy bade them adieu and wished them all a good and safe trip.

**10:00am** Raf switched the car ignition on and prepared to take Freeway 400 to Haileybury. BG No. 1 glanced down and smiled. _You can go where you please but you can't hide._

Billy's phone vibrated, she picked it up quickly when she saw Spike's name on the screen. She listened intently and said, "On it." She got out of the hospital and hailed a cab, "Royal York."

JD got a call from little big brother, "I'm in," he said. He'd been at work since 7am, the Treasury Department wasn't too far from the Hotel. He hopped on his pedal pusher bike and careened towards it.

Spike was running down to his car when he remembered something, he called SRU Sidney was on duty. "Sid, buddy, do me a favour. Search the database for properties owned by Detective Glen Davies. Start with his listed address. ASAP."

He started his car and made a conference call to Billy and JD, "Guys, we need to get physical access to three SUVs parked at the Royal York. You're with me?"

Billy said, "Are you suggesting we carnap the vehicles?"

Spike laughed, "Nope, I have better plans, we will hijack the SUVs with the subjects on-board."

"You're shitting me," said JD who almost hit a pedestrian in his hurry to the York. "You have a program that could hi-jack the vehicles?"

"Yup, I have the virus that will give us control of the on-board computer. We're ready to rock and roll," the SRU Techie had managed to impress himself. The virus to hijack on-board computer in high tech vehicles had been in development with varying degree of success. Overnight, Spike built on known research and development and perfected it – almost perfected it. Today would be test day.

Billy said her usual sweet nothing, "Fuck me."

Spike's phone beeped, alerting him to the fact that someone else was calling. "I've got to go," he dropped Billy and JD's lines, "Ya, Sid. What have you got for me?"

Sid had a promising address, a unit in a modern high rise in a development that a cop couldn't possibly afford unless he inherited big sums or won lotto. "Sid, do me a favour? Call Wordy, Ed and Greg, give them that address, ASAP."

"On it, Spike."

Sid decided to call Greg Parker first. Wordy would be too emotional right now. And Ed, well, he's Ed, tough as they came. He would let the Sargent handle his men, he knew them best. Parker called Wordy and Ed and asked to meet him in a nouveau riche section of Toronto. Both men wanted to know why but he insisted he'd let them know once they're there.

Wordy and Ed arrived at the foot of the building and was surprised to see Team Three in full combat gear, "What's up?" asked Ed, directing the question to Greg.

Greg smiled, "We have a tip that Ally could be in Unit 75. I need you two to keep your cool and let Donna handle this." Wordy inhaled deeply, he was anxious for this to be over with. He started to paced unable to decide whether he could give total control of the operation to someone else, Donna touched his elbow lightly, "Wordy, I need to know you trust me 100%."

"Yes," he said.

"Wait here," she instructed. "Team Three, let's go."

Little Ally was done looking around, she's cold again. Her body was not generating enough heat to keep her warm. She remembered her hidey hole, she slid open the little door and crawled in. _That's better_, she thought.

Toby, Team Three's newest member was a lean and mean fighting machine. He won the admiration of his Teammates with his precision and skills. He once represented Canada in the Olympics as an archer. He put a snake camera through the door, the hand-held screen showed two people. One female in high heels, she appeared to be stoned out of her mind. She stumbled as she walked to the kitchen. One male, half naked was prone on the sofa. Ambient sound indicated that there were no other people.

He scanned the unit. He could see the living room, part of the dining room, and the kitchen. He could see another door, probably the bedroom. "We're good to go, but we have to be very quiet. There's a bedroom there," he pointed to the screen. "Someone could be with Ally. If we could secure these two subjects quietly, it could be all over in five minutes." They all agreed on the strategy.

Donna knocked on the door, "Room Service."

They heard click clacking sound of the high heels, she opened the door, her face dour, "About time," Donna grabbed her wrist and another covered her mouth, "Don't scream," he hissed into her ears.

Before half naked man could get off the couch, Donna was inside with a high powered rifle aimed at him, "Move and you're dead." He did the first wise thing he'd ever done in his life, he raised both hands in the air in surrender. "Who else is here?"

"Just me and me lady," he answered dumbly.

Donna asked, "Where's the little girl?"

"In there," he pointed with his trembling lips.

"She's alone? You sure?" Donna kept asking in a whisper just to be sure. "John," she called to one of her men, "If he's lying, shot him."

"Would be my pleasure, Boss," John replied. Donna approached the door and decided that Ally would probably want to see Wordy first, not fully combat armed SRUs. She asked Wordy to come up. Ed and Greg followed respectfully.

Wordy stood in the middle of the room he had to remind himself to breathe normally. One of the men picked the lock, and opened the door gingerly. There was no one there. Wordy entered, his heart fell to the pit of his stomach when he found Ally's clothes on the floor but no Ally. He thought the worse. _Oh my God_. Greg, Ed, Donna and all the SRUs stood motionless. One of them spoke, Toby, "Jesus."

Wordy fell on his knees, clutching his daughter's clothes when they heard a "thump."

"Did you hear that?" asked Donna. Then there's another "thump", Ally was stretching her aching muscles. They were so quiet she didn't know she was no longer alone. Wordy crawled to the coffee table, not believing what he was hearing. "Ally," he said.

From inside the coffee table, Ally said, "Daddy ice cream?"

_Oh my God_, Wordy's brain was screaming at him, his heart racing, he saw the small handle and slid it open, a little hand came out. "Ally!" Ed fell on his knees, his legs unable to hold him up any longer. Greg fell on top on him. Donna was crying. She wiped her tears away almost embarrassed at the show of weakness. She turned around to find all her men wiping away their tears. "Sid, we need EMS." It was over in 10 minutes.

Meantime, Spike, Billy and JD formulated a way to get access to the vehicles. "Leave it with me," said JD. The cocky and handsome young man looked at the parked cars and saw what he needed. An older model Toyota, he gave it a good thump, as expected the alarm went off. He ran to the valet attendant, "Hey, there's a suspicious guy over there, I think he's stealing a car." The valet attendant left his post to check it out, JD went into the room where keys were kept and found three identical key rings. He grabbed these and went in search of Billy and Spike.

"Only one way to find," they each click a fob, and three SUVs parked side by side lit up. "Fuck me," said Billy, "That was easy."

Spike gave them a cursory briefing, both being technology savvy, "Under the dashboard, look for the on-board diagnostics port. Attach this USB to it. That's all you need to do, we'll have control of the cars remotely. "

The OBD-II Port, as it had been named, was the access point that repairers hook-up to in order to get data on the vehicle's performance and to modify various things such as the timing of the engine, and most of the car's electrical systems and functions. This was going to be their primary access point as everything can be changed using this port. Spike's virus would take control of the vehicles brakes, accelerator, windshield, windows and door. It would also take control of the destination. These SUVs would only go where Spike wanted them to go.

It took less than three minutes to enter the vehicles and plugged the USBs. JD returned the keys before the valet attendant could return from inspecting the blaring Toyota.

**11:15am,** BG No. 1 started to fret when the green flickering light on the device indicated Wordy, who was actually Raf, was heading out of Toronto, _Where the hell do you think you're going?_ The car had entered Freeway 400, he decided it's time to tell Glen. "Boss, Wordy is leaving Toronto."

"Don't be an idiot. He's not going anywhere if he wants to see his little girl again."

"Boss, he's just entered 400. He's definitely leaving Toronto." BG No. 1 showed the device, a fast-moving green light was indeed going further and further away from Toronto.

"Follow him and bring him back here," BG No. 1 and No. 2 heeded, "We'll get him back, Boss and we'll teach him a lesson." The two burly hired-muscles jumped aboard their SUV. Billy watched as they boarded vehicle 2. She smiled broadly. They followed the SUV with Spike on the wheels and JD sitting at the back eager to see a live hijack demonstration.

The SUV moved out of the car park and merged into on-going traffic. Suddenly, the vehicle developed a mind of its own. "What the fuck?"

BG No. 2 went ape shit, "Wha'd the hell ya doin? You should have turned right, not left."

"Idiot, I'm not driving it. It's driving itself," replied BG No. 1 angrily.

The SUV turned into a vacant lot that was being prepped for a high rise. The vehicle stalled. They tried to open the doors, it won't. They tried the windows, it won't budge. Spike, Billy and JD watched with amusement, "Time to call the cavalry." Spike called SRU, "Sid, hot call" and gave the address of the vacant lot.

Five minutes into their ordeal, the muscles were hitting the roof but Billy wasn't done. The afternoon sun was blazing, without air conditioning the temperature inside would be scorching so she turned it off. "We've gotta go Billy. Two more vehicles we need to watch." They left Billy with her remote to wait for Team Three.

BG No. 1 called Glen Davies, "Boss, problem. The SUV stalled. Wordy's getting away." Davies was livid, his eyes flashed. He fished out his phone, he speed dialled Word's number, "What do you think you're up to, Detective Wordsworth? You seemed to have forgotten who owns you?"

It was Wordy's turn to laugh, "You wish." Glen Davies knew he'd been had. He hastily got up followed by Norm and one other bodyguard. The three men exited the hotel in haste. Glen Davies pushed one unlucky porter out of the way. Norm caught him before he hit the marble floor head first.

They boarded their SUVs. Security protocol was followed, Glen sat in the back of the middle SUV, Bodyguard No. 3 was his designated driver. Norm followed with the last vehicle. Both SUV's merged into traffic, at the stop light, JD and Spike took control of the vehicles. "JD, we have to separate the primary car from his security detail. Stall the third car now."

Norm's SUV suddenly stopped dead in the middle of traffic. The Brit SAS knew instantly what just happened. He placed his hands on the steering wheel where he knew a sniper could see them. He glanced out of the window, he put his sniper cap on and decided to the West was where he'd shoot from. He looked out and under the window and there he was, spot on. Toby was perched on the roof, he even recognised the rifle. He mentally recalled its features. _M107 Long Range Sniper Rifle (LRSR) .50 caliber. Attached optics/electro-optics that supports all weather, day/night tactical dominance via rapid-fire direct fire engagements. In the field, it can be fitted with armor penetrating, incendiary, dual-purpose ammunition. _

He looked out the right-side window. He locked eyes with someone familiar. _Blondie. _Sam Braddock gave him the dagger look, recognition was clear in his eyes. _Nick Coyle aka Norm, Brit SAS,_ _Thunderhead. _They were in Kandahar together and served in one operation, a black op called Blackwater_. How could you have gone so low?_

Glen Davies and his driver continued another 200 meters when suddenly his SUV stalled, too. "What the fuck you doing?" He asked his driver and smacked him on the head for good measure. "Boss, it's not me, I have no control of the car."

They tried the door handle, doors won't open. The windows won't open. Team Three arrived on the scene, Donna called Glen on the phone, "Give it up. Raise your hands where I can see them." Glen refused. He continued to search for a way out. Spike whispered to Donna, the Sargent nodded appreciatively.

Spike spiked the temperature inside the SUV. He didn't just turn off the air conditioner, he actually turned on the heater. It would be cooking in there by now. Donna asked again, "Raise your hands where I can see them." Glen and his driver stubbornly refused to do so, the only way out of the SUV was to shoot the windows but taking a gun out was out of the question, it would be asking for it.

"Donna, I have one more trick before you assault the vehicle."

"Be my guest," she said smiling.

Spike turned on the music player and turned up the speaker full blast, he played the song voted the most annoying ever, "Achy, Breaky Heart." It played in a loop, on the third repeat, Glen and the driver raised their hands in surrender. When all the suspects had been rounded up and cuffed, Sam Braddock came up to Nick Coyle, nose to nose, toe to toe, he said, "Scumbag."

Nick smiled, "It's not what it seems."

They were still locked in steely combat when Commander Holleran arrived with two suits, "Braddock, stand down." He glanced at a uniformed officer, "Uncuff him."

"You're just goin to let him walk," to say Braddock was morally offended was an understatement. He was outraged. One of the men in suits looked back at Sam and said quite coldly, "You got your man," referring to Glen Davies. "Before you start thinking of revenge, Nick Coyle is serving at the pleasure of Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth, last time I looked she's your Queen, too."

It didn't make sense to Sam, none of it made sense.

Then his encrypted phone vibrated, only a dozen people knew of this number, all of them either serving or discharged Special Forces like himself. It was a message from Nick Coyle, **Remember Blackwater.**


	9. Blackwater Remembered

**Blackwater Remembered**

Braddock felt a mixture of anger and disappointment. He pocketed his phone, walked out and followed the footpath. _Where to?, _he hadn't a clue. All he knew was this, a_nywhere but here_, the blonde elite police officer has had enough of politics always getting the upper hand over decency and righteousness. _The hell with it!_

Spike just had time to catch a glimpse of Sam Braddock's back before it disappeared among the throng of gathered crowd. The Techie simply thought his buddy was on his way home, after all, they all had to report in for duty tonight. Team One swapped shift with Team Three, third shift meant they had to be at SRU HQ by 10pm for a midnight start. _But first there's a place I've got to be, _but before that he sought out Billy and JD to thank them for their help.

"Man, that was cool," was all JD had to say. "Can I keep these?" presenting Spike the three USBs.

The Techie was flabbergasted but wasn't surprised at the young man's audacity, "That's evidence," he said. "Give them to me."

Not easily dissuaded, the teenager asked, "Can I copy it?" The police officer shook his head, "Quit it will you? The answer's no." Billy listened to the banter and wondered if the two guys would ever grow up, "Guys, you done, yet?"

Spike turned to her and was about to pull her in for a tight hug when she protested, "After you shower," she said laughing. Being vertically challenged, she only came up to his armpit and she didn't want to risk asphyxiation. He messed her hair instead, she responded with "Give me a lift home will ya? I'm dying to sleep."

"K, let's go." Spike turned to JD, "You ok to get back to work?" The teenager nodded and pointed out his bike, "Gotta go, my boss is probably havin a heart attack now." He followed Spike and Billy with his eyes, saw them climb up the Techie's car. He gave them a wave and very wide grin. _There's something about that silly smile_, Spike stepped on the brake and checked his pocket, _two USBs_, _bugger. _He eyed JD and demonstrated a throat cutting motion with his hand. JD giggled and pedaled away.

Billy gave him an open palm, "What?" he said.

"Oh come on, the cat's out of the bag," she said cheekily. He gave her one of the USBs. "Don't mess with it, ok?"

"Who me?" she said, "I'm a good girl." Spike smirked, _What the hell, I've gotta be able to trust them_.

For the second days in a row, Wordy found himself at St Luke's Hospital, this time in the Pediatrics Unit. Shell and the two girls were there, along with Win who drove them over. One of the resident doctors teasingly told him to start paying rent. Ed and Greg came to see that the family was ok but didn't stay long. Just long enough for the Wordsworth family to know they're not alone and that they had a wider family they could count on.

An officer of the Police Union attended at the Hospital to make sure that the family received all the care they deserve and more, especially psychological support and counseling. It would be a long, long road ahead. But one thing was certain, Ally was a survivor in the same mold as her Mom and Dad. Strong, resilient, brave and above all, positive. If her first request since being rescued was anything to go by, she'd be fine. She asked for a pretty dress, it was a disgrace to be seen in the clothes she was found in.

Jules went straight home after detectives from Guns and Gangs came to arrest the thugs from Mr and Mrs Dunn's residence; she even watched eagle-eyed as the computers and listening devices were tagged and bagged as evidence. She reached home around 3pm and expected Sam to be home, too. He went to the Royal York Hotel to sticky beak, the incidence wrapped up over an hour ago. She knew so, she followed the broadcast as the stand-off was being aired live. She was glad that at least members of the media observed news blackout protocol with respect to members of the SRU, only faces concealed by helmets and balaclava, and their backs were shown on television. At any rate, it's now been over an hour since the Glen Davies saga ended, now she's home, and to her surprise to an empty apartment. Sam and his presence had not graced their shared space. _Where could he be?_ She couldn't have known Sam would come face-to-face with a former ally who was now on the opposite side of the fence and of the strong conflicted emotions it would unleash.

Sam walked mindlessly, aimlessly. He reached the foreshore of Lake Ontario without noticing what path he took to get there from the Hotel. The sky had darkened, he felt dehydrated after the long brisk walk. He found a water fountain and drank as much as he needed and walked to the edge of the sandy beach. He took off his shoes. His feet liberated, he felt the sand between his toes. The water invited him, he rolled up his pants and walked to where the water met the shore. The cold water tingled. He walked the length of the shoreline, his shoes tied together and slung on his shoulder,_ Remember Blackwater. _

Nick Coyle's voice reverberated inside his brain, "It's not what it seems."

Six years ago, almost a lifetime now since Operation Blackwater. Four men, two from JTF2 and two from the British SAS lifted a child from a heavily guarded compound inside Karachi. The child was the only son and heir of a well-known Pakistani physicist accused of being sympathetic to the Taliban. Intelligence was sketchy at best, but there was supposedly enough evidence to prove that the father was consulting and consorting with World enemy number one. There was nothing to the assignment, grab the boy and let the Agency do all the talking. Everything else was need-to-know, so the less they knew the better.

Four of them entered Pakistan via the porous border with Afghanistan, garbed in traditional kamiz shalwar, which literally means dress and trousers, of southern Afghanistan. They wore common black leather sandals called Chablee to complete the look. It was also the only time Sam ever put a razor on his head. Being blonde didn't fit the mission, he attracted attention like honey attracted bees. Dyeing his hair was out of the question, risking blonde hair roots in the middle of Karachi would be asking for trouble. His blue eyes were trouble enough as it were.

One of the Brit SF spoke fluent Pashto so they let him do all the talking. The border crossing was uneventful, something to be thankful for since they entered Pakistan** sterile**, meaning unarmed. It was debated long and hard whether they should at least carry small firearms, afterall nearly everyone along the border carried assault rifles. In the end, all they decided to take was cash. The green buck would do all the talking should they be accosted. They wore their dog tags under their kamiz shalwar to identify them as soldiers in the event of capture. They were not spies, they were soldiers albeit what they did wasn't quite ordinary. Without their dog tags, they risked being executed as spies, once interrogated if they were captured, they didn't sign up for that.

They reached Karachi five days after crossing the border. The modes of travel weren't available in travel books, let alone the accommodation of choice. Five days of bonding and sharing war stories. Five days of trusting your mates to have your back. Five days in hell, and that's just on the way in. There was another ten grueling days to follow. Three of those days were spent holed up in a squat, with a boy of 12 held to ransom. "If there was another way to make his father cooperate, we'd have done it," that was the version they were told. Orders were orders, it was their sworn duty to follow. The despicable thing about black ops was when innocent victims got caught in the cross fire.

Nick Coyle, nicknamed Thunderhead, was on stag one night while the others slept off their fatigue. He couldn't sleep. It was pointless to lay down worrying about his lack of sleepiness so he joined Nick outside for a yarn. There was nothing ordinary about the Brit. Sam observed that everything about the SAS was prominent but attractive in a very masculine sort of way. He wasn't pretty or eye-catching in the Hollywood sense. The forehead was high, the eyes farther apart than most people, the nose long, the mouth wide, the facial bone too square. But put together, there was symmetry.

Sam Braddock, was nicknamed Blondie early on. He decided that was better than pretty boy or any other epithet his SF mates could think of. He used to get into fights in the early days because of it. Blondie was just lame. Others had nicknames like Aguila, Wolf, Thunderhead. To be addressed Blondie was demeaning and downright insulting. That was until one tough old-timer told him to take it on as a badge of honour. "It's a term of endearment, mate."

He would later discover that there were men of valour who had more unflattering names like "Suzie". He met one who was called "Pug" because his face looked like a pug nosed dog. "Blondie", so be it, he later came to accept it as a badge of honour. It couldn't be helped that he was a pretty boy, he smiled involuntarily at the recollection.

Nick was called Thunderhead because of a small "thunder" tattoo in the back of his neck. It's misshapen now and discoloured but still distinctive. "I was six," Nick said in a voice devoid of emotion, "My step-father held me face down on a pillow and said I should prove that I'm a man. He inked me screaming into the pillow. I was six, mate. It hurt like hell." Sam was certain there were more horrific stories behind the veiled brown eyes. And Sam was right! Indeed, Nick had a sealed past, only one person knew of it now, everyone who had to do with Nick's past were long gone.

Operation Blackwater got messy for Nick, for all of them. In the end, the physicist father chose to commit to his ideology than to his son, the Intelligence-that-be got it wrong big time. And, there arose the problem with black ops, the operatives got told what to do in dribs and drabs and more often than not directives change.

One night, they overheard Nick on the satellite phone, lambasting a Rupert (British officer), "Fuck you, I didn't sign up to kill a child. You can fuckin come here and do the job yourself. But if anything happens to this child, today, next week, next month, next year, however bloody long mate, I will find you and I will kill you."

_It's not what it seems._ He thought about it again,_ It's not what it seems._

_He's serving at the pleasure of Her Majesty... the Queen..._ The penny dropped. Nick Coyle was on a black op. _Cheers, mate_, Sam mentally toasted the SAS he knew as Thunderhead.

Meanwhile, Coyle was sequestered inside Canada's Forces Base in Kingston. He would be airborne soon, back inside Pakistan, to follow the arms trail that begun in Kosovo, via the waters of the Atlantic into Maine, through to Canada by way of arms-dealing middle men like Glen Davies. Six months in deep cover yielded just one successful "importation", that was enough of a "bread crumb" to follow. He thought of Sam Braddock,_ I hope you know how lucky you are, mate._

Sadly, the Government does not have any mechanism to help people like Nick to transition to civilian life. Retired SF has the highest incidence of suicide, retire them and remove them from the enviroment and camaraderie they thrive in and you have in your hand a budding sociopath. With the exception that they mostly kill themselves. He opened a well-worn pouch, inside was an ordinary Smith and Wesson with one bullet. _That's all I'm ever going to need._

Sam snapped out of it when his cell phone came to life. "Where are you?" It was Jules, sounding very protective. "Sorry, I'll be home soon." He looked at the time 6pm.

Meantime, Spike was seen leaving a building with a thick yellow envelope. Inside it, a life-changing document._ It will have to wait till tomorrow,_ he thought as he rushed to get home for a few hours of sleep before shift.


	10. Beyond Blood and Tears

_Author's Note: The original character Jennifer Stone first appeared in the story "Hope."_

**Beyond Blood and Tears**

The overnight shift was blissfully quiet. No hot calls. Most of Team One spent much of the time sleeping off their fatigue. Leah stayed up helping with inventory while Greg attacked a mountain of paperwork, all clamouring to be completed _yesterday_.

The Wordsworth family was provided a private suite at St Luke's so the girls were able to sleep together in the same room; an extra bed was supplied for 'Mom and Dad Wordsworth' as a courtesy. Only Wordy couldn't sleep. The kidnapping forced a rethink of their family situation. Being with SRU was one thing. There, he dealt with the desperate, the suicidal, the mentally ill, the disturbed, and occasionally one got called out to contain criminal elements.

But being a detective with Guns and Gangs was altogether riskier. There was no two ways to look at it; this was an area of policing where officers only dealt with either informants or criminals. And mainly they're not the small time crooks. They're hard core, had tonnes and tonnes of money to buy out of jail cards, and mostly without remorse.

They were lucky this time. They may not be as lucky next time. Should he go on to put the lives of his family on the line? Never mind him - he opted for this, but his children? Did they have a say in all this non-sense?

_This is all I know to do_, was what he told Dr Toth at his last psych evaluation before he left SRU.

He needed this job, a job, to provide for his children. There's a mortgage to pay, cars to service, bills to pay, education and private tuition for music and dance lessons. These were all necessities and it's not like there were other options for him.

Personally, he's learned to hold to things and career lightly, there were far more important things in life like safety and peace and growing old and being a family. But none of these would be possible without money and provision.

Wordy walked the halls of the hospital. He needed to think, to pray. He wasn't a praying man, at least, not in the traditional sense. He reached a chapel that looked "generic" he supposed it was so no one was offended. He was a man of few words, and now, as he sat there in solitude, he had even fewer words to say.

His hands trembled. He dug into his pocket for his pills. He dry swallowed two. He had become an expert at it. _Please tell me what to do?_ He stared at the stained glass window of a dove. He waited, willing to hear audibly what he must do next.

One thing was certain he couldn't risk his children's life and limb, not again, not ever.

He got up after a couple of hours, and walked back to the private suite to find Shell sitting on the couch, sleepless and drained of energy. "Hi," he said. He sat next to her. She laid her head on his chest and cried silently. Shell listened to his heartbeat, the rhythm putting her at ease. There was no denying it anymore, _something had to give._ She straightened up, "Kev, we have to talk about this…"

"I know," he said. "I'll apply for stress leave and take it from there. We can't make hasty decisions, for now let's just focus on the kids." He looked at the time, 5am, "There's no point trying to get sleep, coffee?"

Shell wiped the tears and gave him a tight smile, "Yeah, latte no sugar."

"I'll be right back."

Wordy returned shortly with two cups of coffee, muffins, a book, and a woman's magazine. "We'd be here for some time yet. If you want me to get something for you and the girls from home make a list."

Nick Coyle had a good night sleep, 6am, he was already on-board a Bell 412 helicopter out of Kingston Air Base to Ottawa. From there, he would hitch a ride in a bombardier Challenger 600, a utility transport operated by 412(T) Squadron to an undisclosed location for a briefing and then off by himself behind enemy lines. Not quite alone, inside Karachi someone called "Aguila" awaited his arrival.

The helicopter ride gave Thunderhead just enough time to remember what little he had of his past. His sealed juvenile record was not bedside reading, not even for the tough-hearted. Nick killed his step-father when he was 12 after he witnessed a brutal attack on his mother who was 27 weeks pregnant. A violent kick to the stomach caused the poor woman to go into premature labour, Nick grabbed a kitchen knife and attacked his step-father in the back multiple times as the bastard just wouldn't die.

A neighbour called police when the deafening sound of rage and pain echoed down the corridor of the tenement housing. Police arrived to find a dying man, and a boy of 12 holding his mother's head on his lap. In her arms was a newborn the size of a mice. The foetus was malnourished and suffered low birth weight.

The orphan boy lived in an orphanage until he was fostered out. His foster parents eventually adopted him, so he was lucky that way. For the first 8 months after the violent death of his Mom and sibling Nick didn't say a word. Not one word. His first word when he finally spoke was "Lilibeth".

His adoptive mother had taken him out for a walk when they saw a baby doll in the middle of the road, Nick shouted "Lilibeth" and dashed out to rescue the doll, missing death by inches. His new Mom asked who Lilibeth was. He tearfully said, "My baby sister." It turned out he delivered his baby sister. He gave the foetus to his mother to cradle and had the presence of mind to check if it was a boy or a girl.

He had only two other distinct memories; the funeral because his sister's casket was the size of a shoe box. The other was the night he distinctly and clearly imagined taking his heart out of his chest and placing it inside an imaginary box. He clearly saw himself locked the box and threw the key away in the ocean where it could never be found. He just didn't want to be hurt any more.

His adoptive parents encouraged him to call them Mom and Dad, he couldn't bring himself to do so. He was always respectful to them and they in return were supportive, he was lucky with parents the second time around but he didn't want anything to do with emotional connections.

He once had a conversation with his adoptive father who said that he should get beyond the place of blood and tears.

"I can't," he said.

"You won't," said the old man. "You just won't."

He sat rigid in the helicopter lost in thought_, It's too late for me. I can't go beyond the place of blood and tears. I can only follow its trail. That's probably why I do what I do._

He wondered what would happen to Ally, taking her wasn't his idea. Glen Davies didn't ask his opinion about it. Ally was taken without much forethought. He wasn't a praying man, but he said a quick one to no particular God_, I hope she, they, gets past the blood and tears._

It was time to disembark. He jumped off the helicopter and walked down the length of the tarmac and wondered how he was still alive. He's lost count of bullet and shrapnel wound, and the near misses, he laughed inwardly when a thought crossed his mind, _even the Great Satan is scared of me. He doesn't want me in hell._

Team One shift finished at 9am. Spike showered and dressed in his civvy. He got the thick yellow packet from his locker, weighed it in his hands and hoped he had not overstepped the mark. He didn't want to be misunderstood lest of all by Wordy. He prayed it would be taken as a well-meaning gesture. Nevertheless, it's already here, he had to go through with it.

After the Glen Davies saga, Spike went to the office of Security International, a high level recruitment company for security matters and asked to speak to the CEO, Jennifer Stone. To his surprise, he was accommodated even though he had no prior appointment, the vixen of security recruiting came out to greet him warmly, "Officer Scarlatti, have you finally made up your mind to join the private sector? Coffee?"

Scarlatti said, "No and yes. Cappuchino, no sugar."

She led him to the conference room and sat down opposite him. She eyed him closely, which embarrassed him. "You look good," she said after the initial inspection, "I watched the news. Was that your handywork?"

He looked at his hands, feeling self-conscious, "Yeah, it's no big deal."

Miss Stone laughed, she tilted her head back in a flirtatious way, "You're so humble. I've been fielding a lot of calls about it mind you. You know what I say to them? 'I'm working on him'." Spike smiled shyly at the sly compliment.

The assistant came in bearing coffee and cakes, chocolate mud cake to be precise. "It's my favourite," he said casually.

"I know," she said to his surprise. "I make it my business to know. Anyway what brought you here?"

Spike breath in deeply, "I was wondering if you have a position for my friend, Wordy."

"Kevin Wordsworth," she said, "five years as a beat cop, homicide detective for a couple of years, SRU for seven, Guns and Gangs Team Leader for two. Did I miss anything?" The SRU Tech expert was dumb-founded.

"I told you I make it my business to know who's who." They ate their cakes and drank their coffee, "There's something you need to know…" he said.

She cut him off, "He has Parkinson's."

Scarlatti was shocked, she flashed him a jaw dropping smile. Miss Stone pressed a button under the table and the assistant came in, summoned as she were. "Print out an offer for the Building Security position for the Continental Towers, will you? The offer is for Kevin Wordsworth." The assistant walked out and came back with a yellow packet inside five minutes.

"Tell him he doesn't have a lot of time to think about it, there's a big pool of candidates I can choose from but I'm giving him priority because of the heroism he demonstrated today. Tell him not to worry... it's a job he can do sitting in a wheelchair, not that it would come to that, of course."

Spike thanked Jennifer Stone. "My pleasure," she said with a brush of her delicate hand, "it's the least I can do."

So now, he's about to hand the packet to Wordy, he felt intimidated. _What if it offends him?_ _Ah, just to do it! He's a big man, he won't take it badly._

He called Wordy, "Can I see you for 10 minutes? I've got something important to give you."

"That's ok, see you soon."

Spike bought flowers and balloons and for something practical, children's books. The girls were still sleeping when he got there, it was just fine. He caught up with Shelley and was pleased to see Mrs Wordsworth looking less frail. Wordy came in shortly after, "Hey, bro" he said. "Thanks for coming." It was warm and fuzzy all around.

"Is there a place we can talk," he said.

"Sure, there's a balcony just at the end of this corridor," said Wordy.

"Excuse us Shell," he said. She smiled and waved them off.

"So what's this about?" asked Wordy when they reached the balcony.

Spike looked him in the eyes, "First , promise me you won't think I'm meddling in your family affair. I just love your family very much. I'd like to help, ok?"

Wordy wasn't quite sure where this was going but said, "Sure."

Spike handed him the thick packet, the big man opened it gingerly. He read the front page, an offer for Building and Security Manager for the newest office and commercial high rise in Toronto. He read it slowly and then again.

"Are you sure?" he asked almost in a whisper. The offer was twice his current pay. Not to mention the one-page fringe benefits and at last, safety and security for his family.

"Yeah, it's for you."

"Do they know I have…"

"Parkinson's? Yeah, they know. She said it's a job you can do sitting in a wheelchair, not that it would get to that."

"I don't know what to say," said the man of few words. Spike took a pen out of his breast pocket. "You don't have to say anything, just sign on the dotted line.

"We can't do what we're doing forever. It's time you put family first, you've served your people, your City and your country. You've done your time."

"Yeah," said Wordy, "Time we move on."

At the stroke of a pen, Kevin Wordsworth life changed for the better.

- The End -


End file.
